


field trip (to nowhere)

by ThisUsernameTaken



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: (and you know you love them), Attempt at Humor, Dialogue Heavy, Field Trip, Fluff, Gen, Intern Peter Parker, Interns & Internships, More Peter-Tony centric than expected, Not compliant with anything post Homecoming, Peter's SI field trip, Protective Tony Stark, Stark Industries, Stark Tower, Tour, abuse of the word 'kid' probably, as contributed by Lost_And_Loony_Girl, have fun, it's another one of those, like for the love of tropes, sh they never sold it, y'all fkcin scare me you know that, yep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-07-07 00:56:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15897621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisUsernameTaken/pseuds/ThisUsernameTaken
Summary: “I’ve decided,” Tony claps his hands, “that you, as our highest level intern, and so mature,evidently," - with a head tilt to the cereal box and milk askew on the counter - “will be giving the tour.”Peter spews his orange juice back into the glass, hacking a cough for a good half a minute. When he speaks, it’s haggard and indignant. “Iwhat?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the work [Perhaps He's Not Missing Out After All](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15186398) by [NotYoCheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotYoCheese/pseuds/NotYoCheese).  
> I'd just check the Inspired By box, but there are elements in here from so many different stories I'd rather not name them all.

Peter’s not the biggest fan of field trips.

 

Oh sure, it’s a welcome break from the drudgery of school, (which, isn’t even that bad), but with his luck? Something _always_ ends up going sour.

 

It’s not like he _meant_ to knock over that display case or set that piece of equipment on fire, honest! Not to mention the field trip to Oscorp...God.

 

So when Ms. Warren starts passing out permission slips, face-down, at the end of class, he’s more than a little apprehensive. Peter’s read about halfway down the piece of paper, having tuned out the teacher the second she said “field-trip”, when something he thought he heard has him honing in his hearing to the front of the room.

 

“-did she say-”

“She did-”

“-really?-”

“-enis, hey-”

“-can’t believe-”

 

He turns to Ned, who’s packing up his bag. “Ned.”

The boy looks up, a stick of gum dangling between his lips. “Yeah?”

“What she say? Where’re we going?”

 

Ned maneuvers the gum so that it’s trapped between his teeth. Peter tries not stare.

He fails, given that he’s only caught the tail end of what he says.

“-onestly Peter, would think you’d pay attention-”

 

Belatedly Peter starts shoving stuff inside his own bag and follows his friend as the class clusters at the door. “I’d think too, Ned, but you know me-”

 

Their conversation’s drowned out by a hundred others as the bell rings and students flood the halls. The two stop at each other’s respective lockers, chattering the entire time. Peter sticks the slip in his front pocket and loops his fingers in Ned’s backpack straps as they’re carried by the crowd to the cafeteria.

 

They talk about mindless things as the lines edge forward, and it isn’t until they’re at their table, MJ already sitting in her corner, that he pays it any mind again.

 

“Hey, losers.”

 

“Buh?” Peter glances dumbly in her direction, a strand of spaghetti hanging from his mouth.

 

Ned oh so helpfully plucks it off and flicks it away, and turns to face MJ as well.

 

“Haven’t you heard?” She sets her book down, like she’s got something important to say.

 

“Heard what?” Ned supplies, though he’s smiling now like he knows something. Weird.

 

“You two deaf or something? We’re going on a field trip-” Ugh. “-to Stark Tower.”

 

Wait. What?

 

Had Ned not rid him of spaghetti, Peter would have choked.

 

His gratefulness is soon stifled by a snorting laugh to his right, and he winds into a pout.

 

“Aw come on Ned, you know I hate field trips.”

 

Ned sobers, nodding gravely, before cracking up again. “Dude, your deer in headlights look is the _best._ ”

 

“Gotta say, those bambi eyes of yours don’t help either.”

 

Peter snaps to look down the table, but MJ’s picked up her book again, biting into her apple with a _crunch_ like she’s never said anything at all.

 

He scarfs down the rest of his lunch and pushes his tray aside, fumbling in his pocket to pull out the now crumpled piece of paper. Ned sucks milk through a straw, looking over his shoulder, as Peter mumbles out loud at a breakneck pace.

 

“Non-disclosure documents, don’t set anything on fire, next Friday- aha! Stark Tower.”

 

“You’d think they’d put that at the top,” Ned says drily.

 

Peter just shakes his head in agreement, folding it away to tuck in a folder. It’s not until he’s zipped up his bag that it hits him. “Oh no,” he whispers faintly. Ned looks up from his phone. “What?”

 

“Oh no, Ned, oh _no._ ”

He sets his phone on the table and turns to face him. “You okay, Peter?”

 

“Ned, the _field trip_.”

 

“Yeah, I know, anyone would hate them with experiences like yours-”

 

“Nono, Ned, that’s, that’s-yeah, but that’s not _it_.”

 

“Then what is it?”

 

“The field trip, it’s to, it’s to,” his voice drops to a whisper, like he’s about to share a secret. “It’s to _Stark industries._ ”

 

Ned looks at him sidelong, like he’s a little odd.

 

“Yeah dude, everyone’s said that like, a million times.”

 

“And I didn’t hear it, a million times!”

 

“Peter, _you_ said it, just a second ago.”

 

He flushes at that, and looks down to his fingers drumming on the tabletop.

 

“Yeah well, I forgot.”

 

“Forgot something you said a second ago?” There’s a smile in Ned’s voice, and Peter’s petulant when he mumbles, “I thought I saw something shiny.”

 

They get up to dump off their trays, bags slung over their shoulders, when Flash steps into their path, smirk pasted on.

 

“Yo, Penis, ready to be humiliated next Friday? It’s pathetic, really, how you lie.”

 

Peter looks over his head to where he needs to go when he grits out, “It’s not a lie, Flash. The only pathetic thing here is you in denial.”

 

With that, Peter walks around him, too far ahead to see Flash look as if the air was punched out of him. Ned goes after his friend with a nod to Flash, like, _you heard him._

 

When he catches up, Peter lets out a shaky sigh.

 

“I-I don’t understand why he’s always got to to do all, that.” He gestures vaguely, cutting through the air.

 

Ned catches his hand, fingers warm. “He’s just a jealous jerk who can’t accept you’re that much cooler than him, Peter. Don’t worry.”

 

Ned grins when he huffs a laugh, and tacks on, “Besides, you’re so going to show everyone up when we go on that trip next week, yeah? Just imagine the look on his face.”

 

Peter giggles, this time genuine, and the rest of the day breezes by. And if anyone notices neither friend’s let go of the other, well, no one mentions it.

 

* * *

 

Peter flings open the front door and yells, “May, I’m home!” Silence.

 

He locks the door behind him, dropping his backpack onto the floor. “May?”

 

Several strides into the kitchen, and he sees the note stuck to the fridge.

 

“I’ve got the late shift tonight, honey, dinner’s in the fridge.” Signed, Aunt May.

He’d have to ask her to sign his slip tomorrow. Eh, he had time.

 

A nap, several math assignments and half an English essay later, and he’s swinging out the window, decked out in the suit. He’d forgone going to the Tower today, saying he thought he’d get some schoolwork done first.

 

Sitting through three lectures of “getting a grip” and not letting his “potential” go to waste was three too many to him, and if the disappointed, worried look his aunt shot him was anything to go by, he’d have to get a grip fast.

 

There was also that whole backpack issue to contend with; after the third backpack in two weeks May had sat him down, looked him dead in the eye, and said that if she had to buy another backpack in the next two months, she’d smack him with it. Gently, of course, but the threat was understood.

 

Money was tight, and no matter how he loved New York, sometimes he just couldn’t trust to stick his bag to a wall and return to it, rather than strands of empty web. And after the third bag lost to petty thieves, he’d caught the drift.

 

So he started sticking them to dumpsters. And returned to nothing.

Well. Wasn’t he the perfect learner.

 

With all that in mind, he climbs out the window and onto the roof, sitting down on a ledge to watch the sun paint the sky a brilliant canvas of orange, red, and purple as the lights switched on around him. By his previous standards, the hours used after school to rest, catch up on schoolwork, and _breathe,_ was time wasted to patrol the streets, stopping people from getting hurt.

 

It took literally falling a story off the side of a skyscraper he was stuck to and onto the street from exhaustion, the panicked shouts of Mr. Stark in his ears, for him to tamp down the irrational guilt and just sleep.

 

The sun sinks lower beneath the horizon, and Peter shapes gloved fingers in a snapshot, imagining the interplay of light weaving over Queens in a picture. And if he’d just had his Starkphone...but two shattered mobiles lost indefinitely as he swung about told him otherwise. The indigo streaks win out over caramel burnt yellow, and slowly the world fades to night.

 

An itch at the back of his mind he’s come to dub as his Spidey Sense blinks to life as the first star winks into light polluted sky, and he’s off.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days fly by, the slip is signed, and look, that flies too. Wait. 
> 
> Peter leaps from where he’s sitting on the fire escape, lunging to catch it before the wind carries it away. He’s not given the chance; a pigeon sitting nearby dives and snatches it, cooing as it flies off. Fat piece of- Goddammit!  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this reads like filler, it's more of a transitional chapter. 
> 
> Credit where credit's due: [Fuck Pigeons.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15820632) by [alizziema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizziema/pseuds/alizziema)

The days fly by, the slip is signed, and look, that flies too. Wait. 

 

Peter leaps from where he’s sitting on the fire escape, lunging to catch it before the wind carries it away. He’s not given the chance; a pigeon sitting nearby dives and snatches it, cooing as it flies off. Fat piece of- Goddammit!

 

He shakes his fist at its retreating form and clambers into his room, muttering angrily to himself. It doesn’t help that it’s Thursday of next Friday. It doesn’t help that he can’t possibly get another permission slip at this point without having to miss the field trip. Psh! Like he wanted to go anyway. He’s not sulking. He’s not.

 

Maybe he can just have May phone in, or sign a separate piece of paper, emailing Ms. Warren of the situation so it wouldn’t be rejected. Yeah. Yeah, that, that’d work. Then he remembers May’s got another late shift, and he doesn’t trust himself to remember to ask her in the morning.

 

He’d practiced writing May’s signature when he was younger, maybe he could... No! No, nonono. 

Peter admits he’d turned in assignments with forged signatures before, but he’d...like to think he’s past that. Situationally. Gah!

 

He loops May’s signature on a piece of scratch paper several times, and types up a draft to Ms. Warren. He doesn’t hit send.

 

It takes several rounds of pacing before he suits up, jotting down a note for May and shooting a text off to Mr. Stark as he straps into his backpack and out into the streets. 

 

It’s been awhile since he’s visited the Tower, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Damn near gives the man a heart attack, shimmying up some eighty odd floors and knocking on the nearest window. Or as Tony mutters, dabbing at the startled spill of coffee on his shirt as he slings an arm over Peter’s shoulders. 

 

The boy just laughs, and Tony can’t help but to smile through the gripes, poking at Peter’s ribs until he flails away in a fit of giggles. Peter takes off the suit, dumps his backpack, and they fall on the couch in a tangle of limbs, the TV screen flickering to a Star Wars marathon. 

 

Halfway into the second movie, Peter looks up from his U.S. History schoolwork and flings a piece of popcorn in Tony’s open-mouthed snoring, startling the man awake with a snort. 

 

Almost chokes on it too, and Peter has to pound on his back for a good minute before he catches his breath. “Sorry, sorry sorry omygod sorry, Tony do you need water, I will get you water, Friday! Friday, where’s the water-”

 

He’s stopped by a shaking hand on his shoulder, and Peter slowly follows the arm up to the owner’s face with dawning horror, fearing the worst, when he realizes the man’s shaking with laughter. 

 

“God, kid, you’re a disaster,” not unkindly, and with a ruffle of his hair he disappears into the kitchen. Peter’s tucked into a couch corner, trying not to die from embarrassment, when a warm mug is shoved into his hands and the cushion next to him sinks, Tony sipping at his own drink. 

 

The silence hangs warm and heavy as the hot chocolate sinks into their systems, and right as Peter starts to doze Tony turns to him and pins him with a a playful glare.

 

“Now, Pete, why don’t you tell me why you decided to try and kill me awake?”

 

He jerks awake with a splutter, choking out protestations and denials before he stops dead and turns to look him in the eye.

 

“Mr. Stark, that sentence made no sense.’

 

At that, the man in question gives an offended gasp, hand flung over his chest.

 

“Oh, so it’s  _ Mr. Stark _ now, is it? Call me Tony when I’m damn near dying, but otherwise,  _ nooo.  _ I’ll have you know I’m ashamed to know  _ you  _ as well, Peter Benjamin Parker!”

 

He pokes a finger into Peter’s chest, and declares, “Disowned!”

 

“What- you can’t- Tony!” 

 

“Ah, there it is!”

 

“ _ Mr. Stark- _ ”

 

Tony turns his head to the side, and parrots, “Mr. Stark? Who is this Mr. Stark you speak of?” At that, he gets up, spilling a lapful of Peter onto the carpeted floor. 

 

“Ow,” he grumbles into the rug.

 

“What’s that? Someone help this child, he’s suffered a lapse in memory.” 

 

Peter pushes himself up and says,  _ “You’re  _ suffering a lapse of intelligence!”

 

Tony spins around, the empty mugs in his hand clinking together, and sniffs, “Tis a sad thing when the high schooler starts insulting the genius.” 

 

The boy follows him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as his mentor sets the mugs down in the sink. 

 

“Okay, Tony, I came to ask if you…” He trails off, suddenly embarrassed. 

 

“If I…?” Tony prompts, propping his elbows to face the flustered teenager at the other end of the counter. 

 

“It’s- it’s nothing.” Peter moves to leave, but Tony stops him.

 

“Oh no you don’t. No one tolerates my company without wanting  _ something. _ ”

 

Peter’s eyes flick to his at that, startling in its intensity. 

 

“Tony, I’m  _ never  _ here because I want something from you. I’m here because I  _ want to be. _ ”

 

The genius gapes at that, unsure of what to say.

 

“Anyway,” Peter continues, as if he hadn’t just thrown the man for a loop so large he’s spinning, “I wanted to ask if you could- uh, helpmewithreplicatingapermissionslipbecauseapigeonstolemine.”

 

Tony can only blink at the spill of words before it hits him, and he throws his head back and laughs. 

 

The kid’s grumbling when Tony directs him to the elevator, and he chatters at him about 3D printers and the challenge he could replicate  _ anything _ , don’t you make fun of me-

 

* * *

 

“Okay, kid, you say your friend, Ted? Ed?”

 

“Ned.”

 

“Ned, guy-in-the-chair, watches porn during school dances, got it.”

 

An indignant voice hisses from Peter’s phone speakers. “One time! One time, Peter, you absolute  _ traitor- _ ”   
  
“Sorry Ned,” Peter laughs, and the other end goes silent, as if the boy’s just realized he’s talking to  _ Tony Stark.  _ “Ohmygod! Ohmygod, Peter, is that  _ Mr. Stark,  _ why didn’t you  _ warn me- _ ”

 

Tony waves him off, though he can’t see it. “It’s fine, Ned. Peter said you can send us a picture of the permission slip?”

 

There’s a vague choked off whine in the background. “He knows my  _ name, Tony Stark  _ knows my  _ name- _ ”

 

It’s that point Peter takes it off speaker and laughs one more reassurance into the phone before he comes back, screen flashing pictures of the paper from multiple angles. 

 

Tony motions for Friday to scan the best shot, and the automated machinery begins to whir. Peter yawns, and with a look to his watch, Tony shepherds him off to bed.

 

“I-it’s no problem Mr-” He stops to yawn again. “Mr. Stark. I can just- just swing home.” He sways into Tony’s side, eyes falling shut. 

“Sure, kid.” 

 

They step into the elevator, and several floors later Peter stumbles into a suite. “There’s the bathroom, brush your teeth. Your breath  _ reeks _ . Don’t worry about your backpack, it’s at your desk, and don’t make your aunt buy another one- she’s terrifying. Night, Peter.”

 

The boy shuffles into the bathroom, shoulder knocking into the door-frame.

 

“Night Tony.”

 

The man smiles in the dark and shuts the door behind him.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Fri, call Emily.”
> 
> “There are 217 persons named Emily employed in this branch of Stark Industries at the moment, Boss.”
> 
> “Psh, you know who I’m talking about. Emily, medium height, dark hair. College? College level intern, gives the tours. Tell her she’s got the morning off- I have a surprise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, had to upload this in class (in which i cried in but yanno, mornings)  
> To you fifty-some private bookmarkers: what? what am I doing wrong?

Tony pokes his head into Peter’s room and hisses, “Peter!” 

 

A lump shifts, but aside from that, nothing. 

 

“Wasit? Still night, go ‘way Tony.”

 

“Peter, no, c’mon, you’re gonna be late! Quick, sign this. You’ve forged your aunt’s signature before, you can do it now.”

 

He shoots up at that, sheets pooling around his waist. “Mr. Stark no! Aunt May’s gonna catch me and I’m gonna  _ die- _ ”

 

“I already called her, don’t sweat i-”

 

“ _ What _ ? Nononono no-” 

 

It’s comical, really, watching the teenager fumble out of bed and tug his clothes on in the dark. Tony snickers and says, “Friday, lights please.”

 

“Gah! Brightbrightbright, Tony  _ why. _ ” 

 

“Adjusting to 50%.”

 

Peter blinks up at the dimmed ceiling, groggy. “Thanks Friday.”

 

The interaction’s nothing, just another blink of the day, but Tony smiles. Eager questions and amazed wonder, and his AI’s were all immediate friends with the boy. They were people to him, as they were Tony. 

 

“What timezit, Mr. Stark?” 

 

The little shit. 

 

He’s still more asleep than he’s awake, but aware enough to stick to that  _ insufferable title.  _ Dr. Stark, sure. Howard was never a doctor, but the title makes him feel stuffy. He thinks back to a gala in 2008. 

 

_ “Dr. Stark,” greeted a stupidly tall man with streaks of white at his temples. _

 

_ “Dr. Cheekbones, how you been!” _

 

Stuffy.

 

There’s a tug on his sleeve, and he looks down to see Peter rubbing at his eyes with his bag slung over his shoulder, spilling out papers from where it’s unzipped. 

 

“Mr. Tony?” 

 

He gives an unsightly snort at that, and pulls up the sleeve Peter’s holding onto to look at his watch. The boy doesn’t let go; just follows the movement with his own arm with a slow blink.

 

“6:30, kid.”

 

At that, his arm drops, scandalized. “Mr. Stark, i could’ve slept another  _ hour! _ ” 

Tony laughs. “Yes, you could have. But you have an English essay to finish, and!” He waves the replicated slip under his nose. “A signature to forge.”

 

Peter grabs it from his wiggling fingers and stomps over to his desk. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. Now go ‘way.”

 

“You’re welcome. Happy’ll drop you off at 7:30, meet him in the kitchen at 7:15. Don’t! Be late. Man gets cranky. Bye, Peter, and have fun on your trip.”

 

“Not even going anywhere,” he hears him mutter as he shuts the door.

 

He smiles, and rubs his hands. 

Oh, Petey’s gonna hate him for this surprise. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey Fri, call Emily.”

 

“There are 217 persons named Emily employed in this branch of Stark Industries at the moment, Boss.”

 

“Psh, you know who I’m talking about. Emily, medium height, dark hair. College? College level intern, gives the tours. Tell her she’s got the morning off- I have a surprise.” 

 

* * *

 

“Hey, hey Pete.”

 

“Mfrgh?”

 

“Put the cereal down, kid.”

 

The boy wolfs down the rest of his bowl, bounds to stick it in the sink, and sits back down to face Tony. “Yeah?”

 

The man’s about to comment on that, but doesn’t get further past a sigh before looking back up. 

 

“I’ve decided,” he claps his hands, “that you, as our highest level intern, and so mature,  _ evidently _ ”, with a head tilt to the cereal box and milk askew on the counter, “will be giving the tour.”

 

Peter spews his orange juice back into the glass, and hacks a cough for a good half a minute. When he speaks, it’s haggard and indignant. “I  _ what? _ ” 

 

“Yep, thought we’d mix it up a bit. And, this way, there’s no chance that Eugene kid of yours can talk shi-shiz! About your “so-called” Stark Internship now. I’ve explained the situation to your teacher already, so you’ll just be nipping in to turn in your permission slip and Happy’ll drive you back to the Tower. Capisce?”

 

Man, Peter knew Tony was a fast talker, but this was just-  _ what?  _ Questions lined up to springboard off his tongue. 

_ How’d he know about Flash?  _

_ Why can’t he just swear? I’ve heard worse in the halls.  _

_ How did Ms. Warren react? Oh god, please don’t tell me she’s told the class. They don’t give internships to just anyone, anyway- _

 

Instead, he just blinks.

 

“Got it? Excellent! There’s Happy now, get your backpack, there, zip it, zip it, stuff it in- good. Shoo!”

 

He’s pushed into the elevator and just about collides into Happy’s chest. Or he would have. Good thing Happy has steady hands- he grabs Peter by the shoulders and spins him around to stand beside him.

 

“Got everything in your bag, kid?” He says gruffly, staring straight ahead.    
“Yup.” Peter roots around in one of the pockets and presents Happy the “signed” slip. “Signed and everything.” Technically.

 

“Don’t show it to me, put it back.” They reach the garage level with a  _ ding.  _

 

“Bye, Friday!”

 

“See you soon, Peter.”

 

Peter starts walking to one of the more nondescript vehicles, but Happy directs him to something bright red and flashy.

 

“Happy, what-”

 

“Boss’s orders. Hop in.”

 

Peter moves to open the back door, and Happy interjects, “Not today, today you sit in the passenger seat.” 

 

“But you hate it when I sit there…?”

 

“Yes, yes I do. Stop gawping at me and get in, we don’t have all day.”

 

So he does. Get inside, that is. He’s still gawping the entire drive to Midtown. Because  _ really _ . 

First period is Ms. Warren, rather than fifth. The trip was a day-long affair, after all.

 

But that’s pushed right out of his mind when Happy pulls up at the very front of the school and motions him to get out. Peter turns, backpack over his shoulder, and hisses, “Happy, no! Everyone’s staring, can’t we go to the back or something?”

 

“Kid, why do you we think we’re even here? Flashy car, front of the school? Get out already, come on.”

 

So he does, trying his best to ignore the wildfire of whispering that springs up as soon as he closes the door.

 

Right as he’s about to pull away, Peter knocks on the window. Happy rolls it down, annoyed. “What?”

 

Peter leans in, propped by the elbows. 

 

“Mr. Stark set this up, didn’t he?”

 

“My lips are sealed.” He rolls up the window, and Peter jumps away with a yelp.

“ _ Happy- _ !”

 

“Have a good day at school, Peter.”

And he’s gone.

 

Peter turns to face the gathering crowd, hands on his hips.

 

“Great.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sniffs into tissue*  
> so uh, what do you think?  
> I'm vaguely considering posting shorter chapters (these are around 1k) twice a week, so either Mon and Fri or Wed and Fri. No guarantees though. Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then the rest of the class sees him standing at the front desk, ID clear on his chest and speaking into his earpiece, and all hell breaks loose.
> 
>  
> 
> Questions are shot in a barrage of incredulity and curiosity, and Peter holds up a hand to silence them. To his everlasting surprise, they do.
> 
>  
> 
> “Hey everyone.” His voice does not crack. At all.
> 
>  
> 
> He spreads his arms wide. “Welcome to Stark Tower!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bloody hell I'm late uhh- have this. also, I've scrapped the idea of two chapters a week. Were I to raise that bar I'd be writing for the sake of a deadline, and the words would taste like ash; tasteless and nothing more than a faint memory, if worthy of being remembered at all.

“Wait, the license plate said  _ IRNMN-! _ ”

“Is that Parker? How’d he-”

“-eter! Peter, what-”

“-ar’s worth more than my lif-”

 

Peter sees Ned waiting for him at the main doors, and with a smile, pushes through the crowd.

 

“Dude, what kind of car is that, it is  _ so cool _ -”

 

They fling the doors wide and walk through the halls, chattering all the while. The bell rings as they take their seats, and once everyone files in, Ms. Warren claps her hands to get their attention.

 

“All right class! I take it you know what’s happening today! Anyone who hasn’t turned in their slips/non-disclosure forms yet, pass ‘em up. Buddy system will be in place, and we’re meeting our chaperones at the buses. Find your partner and let’s go!”

 

Ned immediately turns to him, but Peter shakes his head no. Confusion and hurt flashes across his friend’s face and the boy immediately opens his mouth to rectify the situation. 

 

“Sorry Ned, Mr. Stark says I’ve got to go right back after I turned in my slip.” 

Ned nods at this, and Peter leans in to whisper, “plus, I’m the  _ tour guide.  _ Cool, right?” His eyes widen comically and Peter stifles a laugh. “Don’t tell anyone, though. You can be partners with MJ, yeah? Bye Ned!” He launches out the room. Ms. Warren doesn’t so much as blink.

 

Peter runs through the halls and practically flies out the door, skidding to a halt at Happy pulled up in the same spot. 

“Happy?” He opens the door, buckling in. Happy side-eyes his place in the passenger seat and says, “Just drove around the block a few times- couldn’t have you hanging on forever. Buckled in? Good.”

 

Halfway to the Tower, Peter’s phone buzzes. 

 

_           guyinthechair _ : peter!! You never told us aunt may was a chaperone!

_          myfriendscallmeMJ _ : yeah, she’s legit. 

_          peteyboi: _ wait, what?

_          peteyboi _ : who changed my- MJ, why.

_         myfriendscallmeMJ _ : eh, I got bored of arachnaman

_         peteyboi _ : rude. I had no idea May signed up to chaperone... Gotta go, guys. MJ, I take it Ned’s already blabbed to you?

_        myfriendscallmeMJ _ : you two have no idea how to whisper.

_        guyinthechair _ : r u d e, the lot of you. Personally, i think you’ve just got some freaky super hearing, MJ

_       peteyboi _ : as someone who actually has freaky superhearing, i can vouch for that

_      myfriendscallmeMJ _ : thought you had to go, spiderbutt

_      peteyboi _ : ok that? That’s w o r s e _.  _ I hope you get lost in the lobby or smthn

_      guyinthechair _ : oh, but our lovely tour guide wouldn’t let that happen, now would he

_      peteyboi _ : i wish i never told you

                    instead i’d be laughing at your dumb faces

                    but nooooo

                    you guys need to stop distracting me

 

_ peteyboi left the group _

_       myfriendscallmeMJ _ : well, there he goes

                                     Hey leeds

                                     Wanna spam him with spiderman memes when he gets back

_       guyinthechair _ : oof let’s go   
                             i got the perfect shot of him coming outta that honeybucket

_      myfriendscallmeMJ _ : lmao

_ guyinthechair is typing... _

 

* * *

 

 

Peter switched off his phone with a sigh, following Happy into the garage elevator. 

“Hi Friday!” 

 

“Welcome back Peter, Happy. Boss is waiting for you both in the lobby.”

 

“Take us up, Fri.”

 

They exited into large ceilings and plush carpeted floors, and strode to meet Tony, who was talking amicably with the receptionist as numerous people tried not to stare. 

 

“Ah, there you are. Happy, you’ll be trailing their group. Watch out for that Flash kid.” Peter makes a noise of protest, but Tony steamrolls right over him. 

 

“Pete!” He snaps his fingers. “Up to bat, c’mere. Meet Emily.” A young woman with dark hair pulled up in an intricate plaited bun walks over, holding out her hand for Peter to shake. 

 

He lights up and gives her hand a firm shake. “Hey, I know you!”

 

“Junior!” Emily greets warmly, meeting his grip with equal vigor.

 

Tony looks between the two, lost. “You know each other?”

 

The boy glances up. “Oh yeah, I’ve been on  _ all  _ the tours.”

 

“Twice,” Emily interjects with a grin.

 

“Well, I take it you need no further introductions- Emily, show him the ropes. I’ll be seeing you later, Peter.”

 

“Bye Mr. Stark!” 

 

“Okay, Junior, lemme show you how to pass these out…”

 

* * *

 

“So, like this? I just call their names-”

 

“I will be doing that for you, Peter.”

 

“Oh, thanks Fri. So Friday calls them up, and I give them these- whatsit, passes? Lanyards? IDs?”

 

“Whatever you call ‘em, they’re pretty much rendered useless as soon as your class leaves the premises,” Emily tells him from where she’s drawing up a holograph with instructions and a map.

 

Peter looks down at his whatsit, sad. “Aw, Ned would’ve loved to come back- this place is candyland or something.” 

 

“I’m sure exceptions can be made,” Friday lilts from his earpiece.

 

“Really? That’s awesome. Hey, when’d you get in there?” 

 

Peter taps at his ear. 

“More importantly, how did  _ there  _ get in  _ here _ ?” 

 

“I wouldn’t worry about it Peter.” The AI sounds mischevious. 

 

“Should you need assistance with any endeavor, just tap your ear or look to one of my cameras, and I’ll tell you from your earpiece what you need to know.”

 

He’s flooded with relief- he knows most of the Tower inside and out, but Friday’s assurance renews his confidence. Emily finishes what she’s working on, and pushes it out to float in the air before Peter. She’d give him a condensed tour with instructions, but time’s running thin.

 

“There you are, stick to the plan for the most part, but feel free to improvise. You’re Stark’s kid anyway, so anything else would be a lost cause. Good luck, junior.” She pats him on the shoulder and disappears into a corridor.

 

It’s only after she’s gone he jerks in her general direction and stutters, “I’m not- he’s not my-  _ Emily _ !” Distantly he hears her laugh. 

 

“Rude,” he mutters, and taps at his earpiece. “Hey, d’you think you could tell me what this does…”

 

Not five minutes later, the main entrance doors are shoved open by a sea of teenagers, eagerly pushing to get inside. As soon as they’re all in, Ms. Warren and Aunt May at the front, two other unfortunate parents staggering in the rear, most just spin slowly and gape. Peter can’t blame them- he’d been just the same the first time too. 

 

Ned catches his eye and waves frantically, face split in a grin. MJ waves and flips him the bird. Ms. Warren regards him with a knowing smile, and Aunt May does this dorky finger gun snap that ends with her giving him a double thumbs up. He’d taught her that in one of his sleep deprived ramblings, so he can’t cringe too much.

 

Then the rest of the class sees him standing at the front desk, ID clear on his chest and speaking into his earpiece, and all hell breaks loose. 

 

Questions are shot in a barrage of incredulity and curiosity, and Peter holds up a hand to silence them. To his everlasting surprise, they do.

 

“Hey everyone.” His voice does not crack. At all. 

 

He spreads his arms wide. “Welcome to Stark Tower! I’ll be your tour guide today- Mr. Stark assigned me here because our regular guide, Emily, is sick.” That was the excuse, anyway. Peter glances over their gobsmacked faces and swallows a laugh. 

 

At some point, Happy had appeared behind him, glaring the class into silence. Nice.

 

“Hi Aunt May, Ms. Warren! Flash, you can stop gawking now.” There’s the click of jaws snapping shut, and a subsequent spread of giggles.  

 

“Here at Stark Industries- “ He launches into the introductory spiel he’s heard so many times before, and ends with asking everyone to drop off their backpacks for security processing. 

 

Friday begins calling out their names. He must’ve forgot to introduce the AI, given how everyone startles and looks around with wide eyes for the source of the voice.

 

“I am FRIDAY, one of Mr. Stark’s AI’s,” reverberates from all corners of the room- she was putting on a show. 

 

“I essentially run the building, and serve as a branch of security. Smile, you’re on camera.” There’s the purposeful whir of concealed cameras focusing on the class, and they, if possible, jump even more.

 

“Okay, Friday, you can stop scaring them now. Carry on?” 

“As you wish, Peter.”

 

“Abbot, Carol. Abbot, Carol. Please step up and retrieve your lanyard.”

Peter holds out her lanyard, saying, “You can go stand over by Happy, Carol.”    
She looks up at the scowling man and gulps.

 

“Aster, Bea. Aster, Bea. Please step up and retrieve your lanyard.”

 

The line edges along, Flash snatching his with a sneer. “So you’re not lying, Penis. But so low as to stick you as tour guide? Pathetic.”

 

MJ, having already collected hers, flicks the back of his head. “Shut up, nerd.”

 

Ned all but bounds up, vibrating. “Hey, Ned.” They do their handshake, and Peter slips the lanyard over his head. 

 

Once everyone’s put their ID in clear view, lest they risk Happy’s ire, Peter directs them to the elevators.

 

“Everyone’s got their ID in clear view? Out of your jacket, Mike. Nice. If you would please step into the elevators one at a time- “ 

 

But the majority of the class is already crammed in, limbs askew. Peter rubs the 

bridge of his nose and sighs.    
  
“Okay, that’s- fine. That’s fine. Friday, can you take them up on my signal.” 

 

The doors on the first elevator shut, and he motions the remainder of the class and their chaperones into the second elevator. 

 

Once everyone’s settled in, he taps at his earpiece so that Friday will allow the occupants of the first elevator to hear his voice.

 

“Everyone else, we’re in the private elevator, used by Mr. Stark and the Avengers. Nice, isn’t it? Fri, the R&D floors, please.”

 

* * *

 

 

**(A/N:** **as an apology for the delay, here's the beginning of chapter 5.)**

 

_ “Psst, Peter.” _

 

_ “What, Ned?” _

 

_ “Doesn’t Spider-Man use this elevator too?” _

 

_ If he weren’t the tour guide, Ned would be getting an elbow to the ribs. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the attention you've given this bit of story in the vast expanse of ao3. do tell me what you think.  
> by the way, any suggestions for the trio's chat names? they seem a bit bland to me. peteyboi is something my friend and I like to call him, so don't squint at me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the silence Peter furrows his brow, and moves to look over his shoulder when a suit clad arm drapes over him. 
> 
> “What we’re trying to say is, you’re rigged to fail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late lol

“Psst, Peter.”

 

“What, Ned?”

 

“Doesn’t Spider-Man use this elevator too?”

 

If he weren’t the tour guide, Ned would be getting an elbow to the ribs.

 

“Not technically as he’s not an Avenger, no.”

 

A whole new brood of whispering roars to life at this- Friday must be transmitting conversation between the two elevators.

 

“Spider-Man? Is he here?”

At that Ned snickers.

 

“Peter! Peter, are we gonna be seeing Mr. Stark or any of the Avengers?”

 

“Whoa, do you think he sticks to the ceiling when he gets in?”

 

“The private elevator has padded walls-”

 

“What? Ours is- padded. Too. Never mind.”

 

Peter taps at his ear. 

 

“Yes Peter?”

 

“Fri, could you make it so they can hear me but we can’t hear them? Thanks.”

 

He claps his hands. “Okay, as Ned said, Spider-Man does in fact use this elevator when he doesn’t just swing into the upper floors, no he does not stick to the ceiling- though that’s not to say he can’t. As for seeing any of the Avengers or Mr. Stark, that’s up to them.”

 

Oh, and FRIDAY is performing a non-invasive security scan on you as we speak, seeing as we didn’t get to it earlier. Ms. Warren, there is a bin to your left.” 

 

Splutters and protests flare to life, but Peter just says, “Happy?’

The man produces an aforementioned bin from seemingly nowhere and holds it out.

 

“Mike, will you be causing problems on this tour? Drop the pocket knife in, how’d you even get that past Friday-”

 

There’s a solitary clank of metal on plastic, and the elevator doors open with a pleasant  _ ding. _

Peter flicks out the holograph as everyone spills out, skimming it before gesturing it away and turning to face the class, oblivious to their shock and wonder to the floating blue screen. 

 

“Alright, we usually start with the R&D labs, after the brief introductory history of Stark Industries with the presentations, labs, and the mini-museum. Right this way.”

 

They pass one of the labs walled with enforced glass, and a frazzled man looks up and calls, out, “Hey Junior!” At that near everyone with him looks up and waves as well.    
  
“Hi Frank. Happy, can you take it for a bit?” Peter smiles in what he hopes to be reassurance and bravado before striding to the window, the itch of eyes on his retreating back on his neck. 

 

Frank gets up from what he’s working on and enters a code to let Peter in. 

 

“Peter, didn’t think I’d be seeing you on this floor today, who’re your friends? Wait- oh, this is precious; are you leading the tour?”

 

Intoned any other way and the boy would bristle, but the man had said it with such joviality and a wide smile he couldn’t help but to give one too.

 

“Yeah, Mr. Stark just sprung it on me earlier this morning. Spat out my orange juice, and he just kept talking.”

 

“Yep, sounds like him,” piped the back of someone’s head, dark, braided into a bun- wait.

 

“Emily?” 

 

She kicks at the ground and spins lazily in her office chair to his feet. “Peter?” She mimics, smiling. 

 

“I can’t believe you just  _ left  _ me there, how’d you wrangle everyone into the elevators last time? They just- crammed in like sardines and started  _ complaining,  _ even when I had  _ deliberately told them _ -”

 

Everyone else in the room pretends to work, one eye on their projects but their ears tuned to the conversation. 

 

While various employees were bitter to one so young and already soaring, most had found the boy endearing; the windmilling gestures of his gangly limbs; the strung together sentences of excitement when engaged in conversation. 

 

A minute in and he’s pulled around the room, asked to inspect work and give his opinion. It’s not the first time, but it always sends him reeling. Why would some thirty-odd successful  _ anyone _ want  _ his _ opinion on  _ anything _ ? Nevertheless, after he’s made the rounds, shaken hands, and made conversation Frank gently nudges him out the room.

 

“Sorry to keep you, kid, you should get back to your class.”

 

“Oh, that’s no problem, I-” - he’s talking even as he’s out the door, and looks to a clock. “Hey, why didn’t anyone tell me I was in here for-  _ forty _ minutes??! Nooo...I’m the worst tour guide  _ ever  _ and they’re all going to  _ laugh  _ and Mr. Stark’s gonna be  _ so disappointed- _ ”

 

A warm hand taps a hold on his shoulder. Frank’s already back to his workspace and a kind looking lady smiles down at him, saying, “It’s fine kid, Emily went out to fill in half an hour ago.”

 

It’s a relief, but sends guilt coursing through in equal measure. “She did? Aw no, she said she got the morning off today because of me…”

  
He mopes out the door, mumbling thanks and waving a hand over his shoulder. He doesn’t see how everyone waves back. 

 

The door shuts as Frank calls out, “Don’t you worry about her, she was working through the break anyway.”

 

Peter jogs through the corridors, tapping at the map. 

 

Friday adds a cluster of moving dots in the direction of the mini museum, and when he sees they’re past the intro, over the model workshop where they tried their hands at some of Tony’s math problems, and ahead of the lab where cool shit got blown up (in his own words), he quickens his pace. 

 

“Oh no ohnohnohno,” he hisses. “Friday, they’re going to the  _ Hall of Heroes _ !”

 

“That they are, Peter.” She sounds faintly amused.

 

“Fri, you  _ know  _ what I mean, don’t you?”

 

“That I do, Peter.”

 

“That’s-ugh, Friday, why.” 

 

“That I-”

 

“Don’t! Don’t answer that. Please.”

 

There’s a muffle of static in his earpiece Peter swears is laughter.

 

When he skids his way into the tiled room, the screech of his shoes echoes in the sudden silence as thirty faces turn to look at him. 

  
“Um.”

 

A beat.

 

Peter sees the worksheets in their hands and cracks a grin.

 

“So. How was the crash course in inadequacy?”

 

Ned gives a faux injured sniff. “ _ You  _ try genius level math and get back to us, Peter.” His statement is met with numerous beaten murmurs of assent. 

 

Peter’s face falls. “Aw, no, I’m kidding guys. I’m sure you did much better than that middle school last week anyway, right?”

 

Friday speaks, this time from the ceiling. “Correct, Peter. When Boss saw their results he could only laugh.”   
  


He claps his hands, emboldened.    
“Right! Besides, after you listen to the lecture and powerpoint on green energy and do the worksheet, it’s more of something ironic to try.”

 

Flash opens his mouth for a barb and snaps it shut, suddenly pale. The rest of the class follows suit, save Happy and Aunt May, who just roll their eyes and sigh. 

At the silence Peter furrows his brow, and moves to look over his shoulder when a suit clad arm drapes over him. 

 

“What we’re _ trying _ to say is, you’re rigged to fail.”

 

The man’s voice drops hilariously into a deadpan at the end of his sentence, and Peter turns to bury his face in Tony’s chest with a snort. 

 

Tony waggles the fingers on his other hand in a wave, smirking. 

 

“Emily, I can take it from here, thank you. Now what’s this I heard about the Hall of Heroes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After next week´s chapter I´ll be officially out of pre-written content so if I upload a day late, forgive me.


	6. then you can't watch your kdrama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Iron Man began in a cave and a box of scraps. See that clunky thing?” 
> 
> He smirks, tapping absently on his chest. “You’re looking at Mark I. Could hardly understand why Pep wanted that on display- oh, if you’ll look to your right-” 
> 
> Every head turned like clockwork and Peter faintly heard Tony mutter, “freaky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //walks in eight months late without starbucks: jfc  
> Happy May 4th, everyone!! This fic has recently hit 2019 kudos and I find that funny (not to mention insane.) Thanks, FireChildSlytherin5, and to everyone else that's given this clunk of a thing a chance!
> 
> Started writing this late September???  
> Peter has a slight meltdown, starts with "Aw, no." and segues back in around ""Peter." Softer, this time." Just a heads up, I guess? 
> 
> chapter title's bit of a joke with my friend i put out of misplaced spite and self indulgence, pardon our dust (hah!)

“Everyone starts somewhere.”

 

Tony’s presence was magnetic, all whispering hushed as eyes looked up in wonder and anticipation.

 

“Iron Man began in a cave and a box of scraps. See that clunky thing?”

 

He smirks, tapping absently on his chest. “You’re looking at Mark I. Could hardly understand why Pep wanted that on display- oh, if you’ll look to your right-”

 

Every head turned like clockwork and Peter faintly heard Tony mutter, “freaky.”

 

“That, is the first miniaturized arc reactor. Powered my first suit before I looked into better, more efficient alternatives. We’ve got a big one powering the Tower as we speak. Questions?”

 

Nearly every hand stabbed the air.

 

“Any related to what I just told you?”  
  
Half went down.

 

“I see.” He does a drum roll with his pointer fingers over their heads in the air. “Bapadapa... you.”

 

“Did Miss Potts really design the Tower?”  
  
“That’s not-- okay, point for mentioning Pepper-- What’s your name, kid?”

 

“C-cindy, sir.”

 

“Better than Mr. Stark…” he mutters under his breath, and flashes her a smile.

 

“So, Cindy, after all the ugly as- gah, virgin ears, virgin ears- after all those alien freaks dropped out of the sky, we had to do some remodeling. Or- she did, for the most part. I’m just the money.”

 

He swallowed a yelp from a jab in the ribs- that kid was _not_ subtle.

 

“You _have_ money, but that’s not what you are, Mr. Stark. You’re a genius, and a hero, and the best hero genius to ever- “  
  
“ _Thank you_ , Peter,” Tony warned him, fighting back a smile.

 

“Any questions on the arc reactor, green energy, Stark Industries?”  
  
Five minutes and pages of commemorative whatevers later, they’re moving down the hall, looking at all the items on display.

 

“Whoa, is that a Widow Bite?”  
  
“Should there be exploding arrows here? Because there’s exploding arrows here.”

 

“D’you think we could see the schematics for this? Those mechanisms look _so cool_.”

 

They amble further down, spending generous time on each display.

 

“Hey, Pete, you remembered to confiscate their phones, right? No cameras on the premises, all that.”

 

“Uh-- crap.”

 

“Peter--”

 

“I’m sorry! I’ve been jittery all day what with all the- this- and I guess I just-- forgot.”  
  
Tony’s arm still firmly bracketed over his shoulders, Peter leans minutely into his side, heaving a sigh. “Honestly, I-I’m surprised I’m not a stuttering mess right now.”  


“Sufficient evidence would prove otherwise, Peter. Would you like me to play a short clip for you?” Perplexed, he nods.

 

 _“I’m sorry! I’ve been jittery all day what with all the- this- and I guess I just- forgot.”_ Spills out in a nervous tumble in both their ears, and Peter winces.

 

“Man, am I always that shrill?”  
  
Tony opens his mouth, closes it. Turns an eye on Peter, brows raised.

 

“You could’ve just _said_ it,” he mutters.

 

The man pats his shoulder, electing not to tell him that he’d just set himself up for an innuendo.

 

“Eh, it’s alright kid.” He leans in a bit and whispers, “Fri’s disabled their devices already anyway.”

 

He laughs as the boy’s eyes widen, his strangled wheeze stuck between utterly unsurprised awe and scandalized shock.

 

“ _Mr. Stark--”_

 

“Standard procedure, kid,” he quips, before disengaging himself to stride forward to the front of the group.

 

“Alright! Dark wash jeans, yes, that is a widow bite. Kid at Cap’s armor, any and all possibly explosive projectiles have been disabled, but we thank you for your concern. As for the schematics--” a wink, “that’s classified.”

 

He goes on, “But! I can tell we’ve got some very bright minds here.” With a flick of his wrist, a hologram appears, and he scrolls down the data listed. “Very nice, very nice-- much better than that middle school, right?”

 

Step, turn. “Engineers too-- I see you, schematics. Could always use more of those in my R&D. Occupations, folks? Come on, call them out.”

 

An uneasy murmur fell over the crowd, punctuated by the resolute hands of the few with something in mind. “Okay, you-- hey.” Tony drew his arm back as if burned, a look of mock offense on his face. “Didn’t I say call them out? Points for politeness, though-- Peter, you never told me your classmates were so _nice_.” He flicks a wayward tuft of hair, and the boy in mention yelps; a startled, hiccuping sound-- he had just noticed his mentor’s line of sight; teeth bared in a smirk at a still shell-shocked Flash.

 

“Hahah, alright now, that’s enough of the Hall of Heroes--” came the familiar nervous rush, the boy prodding at Tony’s back in a futile attempt to push them out and elsewhere. Tony only turns on his heel, a grand arc away from his saboteur (or was it the other way around) as he picks out the student he’d just been about to call on.

 

Peter flails in the empty air behind them, much to his dismay and MJ’s wayward snickers, the murmur of voices behind them. (“Shut _up_ guys, come _on_ \--” “Oh, Peter, Petey-boy, intern’o mine-- you are _never_ living this down.”)

 

Aw, no.

 

He lost his permission slip, he _got_ his permission slip, he didn’t even want to go and then he was the _tour guide_ , and then Tony, Tony Tony Tony, man of the hour, the man _himself_ showed up and what was he, the lackey, the embarrassed intern, the absolute _victim_ and _laughing-stock_ and I should have stayed in bed this morning, Aunt May, I’m sorry, I think I’ll just die right here. I’m sorry I missed our Thai date but you can’t eat Thai, can’t eat _anything_ if you’re dead, which I am. Goodbye. She'll kill you for _this_ Mr. Stark, but I think I'm sorry about that too--

 

“Kid.”

 

\--but hey, it was a good run, huh, Dummy--

 

“ _Kid_.”

 

\--what’s that? Yes I _would_ like some more tea, Darcy--

 

“ _Peter Benjamin Parker_.” 

 

He jerks up, hands fisted into his hair. The building anxiety only magnifies his senses-- the catch of his sleeves over his wrists, the taut string of his shoulders. A nervous humming down his spine, straight to his toes, as he looks up and find himself in an isolated corridor. And a voice, firm and fragile, reprimanding and concerned.

 

“Haha- hey! Mr.- Stark. Hey. Hi. Sorry. I’m just a little- a lot- overwhelmed?” A pitch of nervous laughter. He’s shaking.

 

“Peter.” Softer, this time. He squeezes his eyes shut; hunches in over his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry-” A sharp intake of breath; something like “good grief”, before warm hands settle over his shoulders, squeeze. And he blinks up to honey cognac eyes, set in wrinkles only stretched in worry. “Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony’s hands fall away, warmth to a sudden cold. Tony’s hands fall away, and then there are fingers in his hair, rough and gentle, cajoling and reassuring. “Hey,” he says, whisper soft. “It’s alright. You’re doing alright.”

 

He sighs. “I know it was supposed to a surprise, but--” he purses his lips, looking worried, looking away. “I’d have given you more time to prepare. If I knew this would happen.” Runs a hand over his face, wrinkles stretching. “God, I should have known, but you’re capable, so capable, and I just--”

 

“Mr. Stark?”  
  
“I thought it was enough.” _You’re enough_.

 

“Shit, kid, I--”  
  
“ _Tony_.” And oh, that shuts him up. Peter smiles up at him, a little shaky, a little sad, a hand on the man’s wrist, fingers curled softly round the fabric.

 

A deep breath. _Come on, Spider-Man._ “I’m good.” Then, “Let’s go.”

 

And they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, high five (and maybe a comment) if you made it. I know this trope's a fav because of all the interaction between everyone, because, come on. Damn. We'll get more of that soon, promise! And not "After next week´s chapter I´ll be officially out of pre-written content so if I upload a day late, forgive me" sorta thing. 
> 
> And no, I won't die for eight months again either (though my writing style's certainly changed. Halfway through, too. Can you tell?)
> 
> Addendum, 5/13/19: don't expect anything new too soon; I've got finals. Thanks!   
> \--
> 
> “Alright, kid, we’re on the last stretch.” Tony’s shiny more-expensive-than-your-life shoes go tip tapping down the corridor, FRIDAY in their ears as Peter huffs a slight jog to keep up.


End file.
